


My Touch, You Needn't Fear

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Feels, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 18:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: Several weeks have past since Charlestown. Silver grieves the loss of his leg, laments over his scheme in taking the gold, and rises to his new position as quartermaster. He also takes note of how his relationship with Flint has evolved so drastically, and finds the desire within himself to push even further."Thank you... For opening that door."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was truly a labor of love, so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> *"Andate a la cresta" is Spanish for "Fuck you", according to my translator.

It had been several weeks since they had set sail far from Charlestown. Weeks since the betrayal and destruction its lords had wrought only to be returned in spades. By the time the captain's rage subsided the town was but a smoking husk along the water. At least that was how the men had described it to him. Based on the fact that none possessed his same penchant for storytelling, and along with that stretching the truth to its finest point, Silver had no reason to doubt their account. He knew first hand what Flint's fury was capable of. After all, his first distinct memory of the man was him pummeling Singleton's face until he was a dead, bloody mess. No one seemed to have a problem with their attack on the colony. He certainly didn't. This whole endeavor had stolen something from each of them. For the captain it was Mrs. Barlow. A women who, while shrouded in mystery, had clearly loved the man without hesitance or fault. Silver had lost his leg to Vane's quartermaster, and the men had lost a handful of their friends and brothers to the same crew. Not to mention the Urca gold was lost and their last hope of solidifying their futures free from the crown had been dashed. It went without saying that every man had hatred pumping through their veins in one capacity or another, and turning the cannons on a mutual enemy was at least a start to quelling it.

It had taken weeks before Silver was able to reclaim even a sliver of normalcy within his life. Or rather what was left of it. The moment he had awoken on that bench in the captain's cabin he knew that his part in the Urca prize was over. He no longer desired any part of it. When he had lifted the thin sheet that covered his freshly amputated leg, he saw not the empty space where it had been. No, instead he saw a ball and chain. An invisible anchor that weighed more than flesh and bone ever could. His scheme in the gold had been to secure his freedom, and it was exactly that which had stolen it from him. He wasn't a fool. If he hadn't coaxed the boatmen into following his lie they likely would have retrieved the gold without fault. They wouldn't have had the cause to seek passage to Charlestown in a last-ditch effort to free Nassau from England. And so he hated every last piece of eight on that beach, almost as much as he hated himself. He had always heard that karma had a way of returning to thieves and liars, and it seemed he had been long over due.

The first thing Silver had done upon returning to Nassau was finding Max to relinquish his share of the gold. She could take it all for herself, or she could split it with her newfound partners; he didn't give a shit. For all he cared, she could ship it back to Spain tied with a satin ribbon and a note that read *"Andate a la cresta". The once simple act of even reaching the beach had become a particularly difficult challenge. And so he was thankful to Max for not wasting her breath in an attempt to argue with him. He supposed the crutches and the pinned up pant leg had made his argument for him. So Silver instead turned his attention to his newfound duties as quartermaster. The men's vote had come as quite a shock considering all he had done, but he supposed he should be nothing less than grateful. Without them he would be an outcast, an invalid. While he had been truthful when telling Flint he never much cared for the sea, at the very least he now had a place. Silver had realized when that boatmen fell from the rigging that these men had grown important to him. He would gladly spend the rest of his days proving that true. Not just to them but to himself.

Silver knew things would never return to normal. Not after what he had lost. The persistent, throbbing pain in his stump made sure to remind him of that every single day. And once that iron boot of Randall's had been refitted for him, it would remind him with every step. So instead, he thought it better to concentrate on regaining some semblance of routine. Get up, eat whatever had been brought to him for breakfast, and clean and freshly bandage what was left of his leg. Or, if he was having a particularly aggravated morning, lie to Howell about it. All the while attempting to ignore the heavy stare Flint would always cast in his direction. Sometimes the captain would humor his fib only to do the tasks himself once they were alone. Then Silver would hobble his way on deck for some fresh air and try to be of use. Once that had run its course or otherwise flat out failed, he would return to his new spot on the window seat and spend the rest of his day reading. The only variant of this routine came the day they had first made landfall. Silver had managed to talk his way into letting him be transported to the beach on the longboats. While speaking with Max had been a reason all on its own, he also figured that as his first official act as quartermaster, he would do well to keep Captain Flint from strangling Jack Rackham where he stood. He refused to let any more chaos come from his mistake; not if he could help it, at least.

As the weeks continued to trickle by, Silver gradually came to realize something else. Perhaps he was not to be all consumed by what he had lost, as he had previously thought. Instead his mind began to wander towards what he had gained. A future, while certainly not what he had anticipated, as well as a purpose and a family. Since Charlestown his relationship with the men had become invaluable and undeniable. The _Walrus_ men were his brothers. He and Muldoon had become close friends, and while he didn't at all blame Billy for still having some doubts, the man had warmed to him. Never before did Silver feel so closely bound to those around him. Never before did he wish to prove the strength of that bond with his own sweat and blood. And yet it had come to be.

It was not just his ties with the crew that had begun to flourish, but those with the captain as well. While he and Flint had had their trysts since first sighting the Urca, things were now distinctly different. Perhaps if it weren't for his own grieving he would have taken notice of it sooner. The way those green eyes had come to settle on him in uncharacteristically soft glances. The prolonged touch of his fingers while changing his bandages, or the steadying hand on his waist while he struggled to use the crutches. He supposed his first inclination probably should have been the fact that Flint was even willing to offer the comfort of his cabin in the first place. Or that he had been the first one to see upon waking. The list seemed to only go on and on. Flint had welcomed the use of his personal book collection to entertain him during his recovery, and it wasn't long before Silver would return to the cabin to see a small stack of volumes upon the window seat. Always something new, and always something the man thought he would enjoy. Soon they began to spend their evenings lost in discussion, talking late into the night about the various works of Homer or of the aggravating composition of _The Odyssey_. Though to be perfectly honest, that last one was merely Silver's attempt at annoying the man.

It was almost as if they had become friends.

It was a surreal turn of events. One that had taken Silver off guard but that he valued nonetheless. Yet even so, he knew that their newfound partnership ran much deeper than simple friendship. The way Flint had begun to allow his heavily practiced role to falter when it was just the two of them was proof of that alone. He now allowed his emotions to seep through the mask, if only just. He told him about Miranda Barlow, who she was and just what she had meant to him. He had opened up to him in ways that, based on the way his tone would waver, he hadn't even done with Gates. He had unwittingly become his confidante. He saw Flint when he awoke during the night from nightmares, saw the anguish in his eyes when he knew he was thinking of Miranda's loss. He had used his first name, "John", when trying to calm a fit of panic Silver experienced over the loss of his leg. They shared gentle kisses that often led to nothing more. Before Silver even realized what had happened he was lost on the man. He knew better than anyone that being this close to Flint would likely lead to his inevitable betrayal and death. Yet he found himself unafraid. When the captain advanced on him during a particularly heating argument, he felt no fear. He had quickly realized that while he may shout and stomp his feet, not unlike a child in tantrum, no harm would come to him. It was if Flint now refused to lay his hands on him if the touch would be anything less than gentle.

In a way it almost baffled him. It likely would have if he wasn't so preoccupied relishing every moment of it. While it had taken a few months of healing, they had eventually allowed themselves to give in to lust once more. Since Charlestown they each had their own losses to grief, their own wounds to nurse. While the connection between them had strengthen beyond what he had ever thought possible, physical intimacy was quite far from their minds. And even when it had returned, when their kisses gradually gave way to wandering hands and earnest touches, Flint had remained adamant about not wanting to hurt him. He didn't want to risk doing anything to tear the stitches or aggravate the wound. While he claimed it was nothing more than to avoid Howell's wrath, the mixed green depths of his eyes showed differently. There was a tenderness there, a unguarded element that hadn't existed before. A part of Silver wanted to point it out. As stubborn and oblivious as he was, Flint was that much worse. Yet he held his tongue. He didn't dare push the man, to question what he thought but didn't speak. Not out of fear or cowardice, but rather understanding. He wouldn't trouble the man this soon after his traumatic loss of Mrs. Barlow. Not with the anguish of it remaining so close to the surface.

But as Flint once again reclaimed his spot between Silver's legs, the man couldn't help but wonder if he felt it too. That unmistakable pull that surpassed lust or even simple attraction. That fragile link that made Flint take his time when they did find a moment of privacy. His touch had grown soft, cautious. Not just when it came to the foreplay, which at times they had previously skipped altogether, but during their actual coupling. He would make sure to arrange the pillows in such a way that Silver would be comfortable and that no weight would bare on the stump. Again Silver had to bite his tongue to keep quiet. He knew what a private man the captain was. How closed off, guarded, practiced. If Flint realized just how he changed when the two were alone, how he was relinquishing his mask if only for a few hours, Silver worried the thought alone would send him careening back within himself. There was no way he would allow that to happen now. Flint needed an anchor. A shoulder to hold in order to steady himself when he too inevitably wavered.

The day had progressed as they normally did as of late. They had reclaimed the _Walrus_ in what could only be described as a glorified trade, and now rested in Nassau's bay. They had returned from perhaps their third raid against the English colonies, and had been given just short of a week's reprieve to rest and resupply. The men had dashed out to spend their time and wages within the town as they usually did. While Silver may have joined them if circumstances were different, his place was now aboard the ship. Until he had properly healed, Howell insisted that unnecessary trips to the beach were impractical and should be avoided. Honestly, Silver didn't mind as much as he thought he would. Struggling in and out of the longboats had grown tiring the first time, and getting back _onto_ the ship was unbearable. Not just for his mangled stump, but for his pride. Requiring assistance with such simple tasks gnawed at him in a way that far surpassed physical pain. Even having to use the crutches to get around weighed heavily on his self esteem.

The refitting of the iron boot had been finished for perhaps a week now, but thanks to Flint's meddling Howell kept it locked up. _Please_ , Howell had implored under the captain's watchful gaze. _Just until the inflammation recedes._ In truth the prosthetic shouldn't have even been considered until after months of healing, but Silver had a way about him. He knew that the doctor felt pity for him, and while that made his stomach churn and his skin crawl, he also knew how to turn that to his advantage. Unfortunately, Flint also knew this, and it seemed this time Howell's fear of going against the captain's wishes outweighed his silver tongue.

After spending the majority of the afternoon up on the quarterdeck watching the waves tumble over the water, Silver finally retired to the captain's cabin. As usual he found Flint sitting dutifully at his desk. Like a sentinel on watch he hardly spent his free time anywhere else. Green eyes peered up from the maps and papers as he entered. "The men?" he asked nonchalantly.

Silver hummed as he leaned against the desk, setting the crutches aside so he could instead fold his arms over his chest. "A few stragglers remaining, aside from the watch," he answered simply. "The rest are surely on the beach, filling their bellies and emptying their pockets." Something akin to a chuckle left Flint's lips. To an untrained ear it would likely come across as a scoff, but Silver knew better by now.

After a moment of consideration Flint set aside the quill and compass and moved around the desk until he was encroaching on his space. Silver could hardly mind. Their close proximity did nothing less that quicken his heartbeat. As always the smell of him was strangely intoxicating, warm. The scent of leather, gunpowder, and the ocean surf clung to him. Silver swallowed as he redirected his gaze from where it had been resting on the captain's mouth. When he met his eyes, they too seemed to suddenly flick upward. "How's your leg?" Flint's voice had dropped low. While the question may have arisen from genuine concern, it was now known that it was also a pretense for sex. He wasn't merely asking if he was in pain, he was requesting permission to touch him.

"Fine enough," Silver replied with ease. The words had hardly left his mouth when he felt those lips against his own. They were wonderfully warm, albeit a bit rough from Flint's biting when he thought no one was looking. Another nervous tick he had come to notice as of late. Not unlike the slight wringing of his hands as he held them clasped behind his back, or the twirling of the many rings on his fingers. They were such small details that no one but him could possibly notice. Hands moved to cradle his jaw as Flint's mouth pressed against his wantonly. The clattering of the crutches falling to the cabin floor didn't deter either of them. Silver's coat was shrugged off before his hands moved with similar intent. Flint's weapons belt dropped to the floor with a thud and the leather coat soon followed. When Silver began to tug at Flint's shirt, however, the fingers that clutched around his wrist stopped him.

Their fervent kiss had broken, and while the familiar hunger in Flint's eyes remained, they were now clouded with uncertainty. "What are you doing?" he asked. His voice was just barely above a whisper.

The question gave him pause. Despite the several times they had slept together, the captain never fully unclothed himself. Usually he removed only what was necessary to get the job done, and merely unfastened the ties of his breeches. This he had noted early on and was something he had never questioned or pushed. To him the reason behind it was obvious. With Flint's recluse nature, it almost went without saying that he was uncomfortable in baring himself in such a way. The clothing was just another shield, another tool he used to remove any intimacy and keep him at arms length. He didn't want the vulnerability that came with such exposure. But what Silver now realized went past that. Flint had never let him _touch him_. He had sucked Flint off numerous times, yes. But the more gentle, familiar touches that came with intimacy were always stopped and redirected. It was always _Flint's_ mouth on his chest, _his_ fingers that traced over his skin in sweet caresses. It was his mouth that gave rise to marks on the concealed parts of his body, his touch that went beyond simple lust. Flint was always the one in control. The one that always touched, without allowing himself the same treatment. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it sooner. Then again, he supposed anyone would have trouble concentrating when Flint's mouth was on them.

This realization caused a lump to form in Silver's throat. This was another of Flint's many methods of keeping him at a distance. Quickly he swallowed and gave a slight shake of his head. "I want to see you," he answered honestly. This was apparently not the answer the man had wanted to hear. The unease in those eyes only strengthened, and when Silver reached out to touch his cheek he withdrew half a step. Silver's brow knit together as he watched those green orbs flick over his face as if searching for something. "I want to touch you," Silver continued. He was careful with his words, his own gaze trained on Flint's expression to gauge his reaction. The man looked... tired. Maybe even fearful. It only made that uncertainty weigh more heavily on him. Silver's fingers had curled to keep himself from reaching out again. He was painfully aware of the boundary he was pressing up against. While he wanted to test the man's limits, to somehow coax Flint to let him in, he was also appreciative of how fragile this moment was. One step too far and Flint would likely turn him away completely.

"May I? James..?"

It was the first time Silver had ever called the captain by his given name. This was not lost on the man whose gaze rose to meet his. While certainly only just a few moments had passed since he spoke, it felt like an eternity. He watched the man swallow before an unsteady breath left his lips, his eyes sliding closed. Silver took this as permission. However, he was still hesitant as he reached out. He watched the tension locked in Flint's neck and jaw, saw the way his cheek twitched under his fingertips when he finally touched him. Slowly Silver smoothed a palm over the stubble on his cheek. It prickled against his fingers as he then moved to trace his jaw with the pad of this thumb. This was by no means the first time Silver had touched the man's face. They often grabbed at each other in the throws of passion. But this, to be touching with such tenderness and intent, this was completely new. It was all Silver could do to ignore the way his heartbeat thudded in his ear like a fucking drum. When his other hand moved to slide down his neck Flint's eyes finally opened.

"Are you done?" he asked. His voice was obviously strained.

Silver simply shook his head. "No," he breathed. This time Flint's eyes remained on his face as he allowed his hands to wander. They smoothed down those broad shoulders before moving over his chest. Warm, hard, resilient. Silver swallowed as his gaze dipped lower. Carefully he pulled Flint's shirt from where it tucked into his trousers and undid the fastenings from the bottom up. All the while Flint remained perfectly still, allowing only his eyes wander over the man in front of him. He slid the shirt down the slope of his shoulders before letting it drop to the floor. Silver could feel his breath hitch as he took in the sight before him. There was no mistaking that the captain would be strong and lean, but what he wasn't expecting were the bursts of freckles that littered the expanse of his torso. They darkened his shoulders before spilling down his arms. He immediately likened them to the stars that blanketed the night sky. Vaguely he wondered how many constellations he could find, how many patterns he could trace out with his fingertips. As his eyes trailed over him he noticed something dark on his right bicep. Upon further inspection it was a tattoo. Small and simple, a crescent moon sitting among the stars. Silver moved his fingers over it and Flint let him.

Silver didn't inquire about its meaning. He didn't want to sully the moment with unnecessary chatter, and he didn't want to give Flint an opening to try and distract him. Another time perhaps. Instead Silver allowed his hands to wander down his chest. He dared to trace a nipple with the nail of his thumb before sinking lower, palming over his taunt abdomen before hooking his fingers in his trousers. He glanced up to seek Flint's permission to go further. The captain's gaze, however, did not meet his. Instead his eyes were trained on Silver's hands. The tension in Flint's neck had all but disappeared and his lips were now slightly parted. He also noted the way his breaths had begun to quicken. The man took this as a good sign and began to unlace his trousers with practiced fingers. Gently he tugged them below his hips, pushing them down as far as he could. After all, with the amputation he could no longer kneel down like he now so desperately wanted to. Flint's cock was already partially hard just from his wandering eyes and exploring hands. If it wasn't for the desire that swelled in his own chest he would probably be smug.

"Do you want to lie down?" Silver asked carefully.

Flint didn't answer. At least not in the conventional sense. Rather the man stooped down to retrieve the fallen crutches, leaning them back against the desk before going to slide the bolt across the door. Silver hobbled over to sit on the bed and started to pull off his own clothing. Flint had kicked off his boots and his bare feet now padded softly against the floor as he returned to him. Any unease had left his eyes and instead given way to a more carnal emotion. He moved past him on the bed and laid back as requested, though he kept himself propped up on his elbows. Silver didn't miss a beat. His good leg bent against the mattress as he scooted closer, his stump hanging off the edge of the bed to avoid putting any weight on it. Flint watched with keens interest as he left the quartermaster to do as he wished. Now that he had a better position Silver worked his breeches down his thighs before pulling them free completely. He wasn't surprised by the freckles that continued down his legs. Silver reached out to run his hand up his thigh. The muscles were just as taunt as the rest of him.

Silver let himself drink in the sight for a few moments before he leaned closer. His hand guided Flint to bend his leg at the knee before trailing kisses down the soft expanse. The light dusting of copper hair tickled his lips. The muscles rippled beneath his fingers as he sucked down hard at the supple flesh. This time it was his turn to mark him. He kissed and sucked longingly, his tongue dragging against the skin before worrying it with his teeth. The sound of Flint sucking in a sharp breath was music to his ears. Being the little shit he was, he wanted to elicit as many noises as he could from the man, as so he continued his administrations. He led a trail of reddening marks down the captain's inner thigh, ignoring the swell in his own pants and instead focusing on the man spread beneath him. The stubble that had begun to grow on his own cheeks scratched the sensitive skin as he licked along the slope where his thigh met his groin. The friction caused a barely audible whimper to leave the back of Flint's throat. As expected this only spurred him on further. Fingers traced around the base of Flint's now fully hard cock and licked tentatively along the length. This time he was rewarded with a moan. "James," Silver purred softly in response. His dragged his tongue along the other side before gathering the precome that had begun to bead at the slit. When Silver swirled his tongue around the swollen tip and took it into his mouth, sucking hard, Flint's hips bucked. Thick fingers tangled themselves tightly in Silver's dark curls. When he glanced up the man's eyes were closed and his lips parted in want. His other hand clutched the bedsheets in a tight grasp.

The man was apparently struggling to keep silent and Silver reveled in it. Fingers stroked up the length before sinking back down, his mouth following suite. Another moan. Silver fought the urge to smirk, hollowing his cheeks and licking the underside of his cock as he began to move his head in a steady rhythm. He had always loved this. Flint tasted divine, and the feel of that thick weight on his tongue was enough to drive him mad. He even craved that ache in his jaw that sometimes lasted until the next morning. And so he continued almost greedily, this act giving him as much pleasure as his captain. He licked and sucked, his hand stroking up the wet length with each backward pull of his mouth. His other fingers gripped the man's hip to keep him steady.

Silver readily recognized when Flint began to draw closer to his limit. The breaths above him were panting, the fingers in his hair clutching and releasing in a pattern that matched the motions of his mouth. And those hips, god, they jerked up every time he withdrew in an attempt to chase the wet heat of his mouth. Silver's other hand dipped lower to stroke the inside of Flint's thigh as he worked him closer. He relaxing his throat, engulfing the man until his nose pressed against the curling copper wires of his groin. Flint gasped, the man finally releasing a full moan as those fingers pulled him ever closer. Silver hummed in encouragement, and it was that vibration that sent Flint over the edge. He gave a final thrust into his mouth and stilled his hips, his fingers unbearably tight in his hair as that hot seed washed down his throat. Blue eyes closed as Silver drank from him, reveling in the taste on the back of his tongue. The moment Flint released his hair he pulled back slowly. The back of his hand moved up to wipe away the come that had escaped down his chin.

"God, your beautiful." Silver couldn't help the words that spilled from his mouth. His eyes were trained on Flint's form, taking in the sight of him unabashed. The man had finally relaxed back against the sheets, the rise and fall of his chest deep and rapid as he fought to regain his breath. When those eyes opened they were bright, his satisfaction clear. Once Flint's breaths began to find their usual rhythm he sat up. He clasped Silver's chin between his thumb and forefinger and guided him close for a kiss. Urgent but tender at the same time.

By the time Flint withdrew they were both breathless. The way Flint was gazing down at him now... God, he did all he could to commit it to memory. It was a look not unlike the one he had seen him casting Mrs. Barlow. One of unabated warmth and affection. Again their lips touched, softer this time, and Flint hefted Silver to sit straddling his lap. That mouth trailed down his jaw and neck in strangely soft movements as his hand delved between his legs. It wasn't until then that Silver remembered his own unsatisfied needs. His cock all but twitched against the fingers that wrapped around it, ripping a groan from his throat. It didn't take long for the skilled movements of Flint's hand to bring Silver to his own release. He came over his fingers with a low moan. "Ah, fuck," he breathed. His fingernails bit into Flint's chest as the pleasure courses through him.

Before he knew it Flint had gathered him into his arms. "John," he murmured. Fingers brushed the dark curls from where they stuck against his face. When he laid back again against the cot he did so with Silver in tow. He tried to ignore the significance of this. Of Flint speaking his name once more, of the arms that held their exposed forms together as their limbs intertwined. Surprisingly, it proved easy enough. Silver had allowed his eyes to slip shut, and so he focused on the warmth of the skin beneath his fingers and the heartbeat the thrummed against his ear. Though it would be years before he came to realize it, this was the first of many doors he would come to open for James Flint.

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual as of late, this story referances a handful of my other fics. Including [Man with the Silver Tongue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8248628), [I Won't Forget](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8396479), and [Read Between the Lines](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8321542).
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://angrypiratehusbands.tumblr.com/)


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